


Bells

by Dramione84



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anal Sex, Honeymoon, M/M, Oral Sex, Smut, Weddings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-21
Updated: 2016-11-21
Packaged: 2018-09-01 08:15:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8616451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dramione84/pseuds/Dramione84
Summary: Wedding Bells are in the air as Marcus weds Oliver in an intimate affair at a hotel in Scotland before he whisks his husband off for their honeymoon in Vermont...follow up to Goals (Inspired by littlemulattokitten's responses to my request for FlintWood for her tumblr game). ONESHOT





	

Scowling deeply as he checked his wrist watch for the umpteeth time that hour, Marcus paced the room of the hotel suit.

Slouched in one of the cream tub chairs, his ankle casually resting on his knee, his best man, Draco Malfoy, frowned as he watched Marcus’ highly polished shoes twisting the pile as he turned.

“You are going to wear the carpet thin,” he observed, his tone nonchalant.

Marcus’ scowl deepened momentarily, the muscles in his forehead complaining at the action.  Grabbing the chair next to Draco, he yanked it round, dropping heavily into it, his hand coming up to massage away the tension he felt.

 Sighing heavily, Draco stood from the chair, striding over to the drinks cabinet.  Retrieving the decanter, he poured out a measure of the aged single malt, the auburn coloured liquid ebbing and flowing against the crystal glass as he shoved it into Marcus’ hand forcefully.

“Drink that and calm down,” he advised as he settled back into his chair.  

Marcus stared at Draco, one eyebrow raised, as Draco rolled his eyes.  “Drink,” he insisted, nodding to the glass.  Marcus lifted the crystal tumbler to his lips, eyeing the dark liquid for a moment before gulping it down, savouring the way it warmed the back of his throat.  

 Opening his mouth to speak, he was interrupted by the door bursting open, the familiar head of his best friend, Pansy Parkinson, popping round the cherry wood door.

“It’s time,” she smiled as Marcus stood up, nerves suddenly getting the better of him as his stomach plummeted to his feet.

Draco watched his friend’s complexion ashen, reaching out to steady him as he trembled slightly.

“Easy mate,” Draco cautioned, before snatching up the glass and pouring him another measure of Dutch-or in this case, Scotch-courage as Marcus checked his reflection, smoothing away non existent wrinkles as Pansy pushed the door open wider, coming to his side.

“Relax,” she soothed, fixing his tie before pressing a kiss to his cheek as Draco took his glass.

“Ready?” Pansy asked, taking Marcus’ hand and giving it a reassuring squeeze.

Marcus nodded.  “Ready.”

 

oOoOoOoOo

 

Hermione held the Glen Orchy Tweed jacket open as Oliver shrugged into it, before turning to her.  “How do I look?” he asked, blushing slightly.

“Very handsome.  So handsome in fact that I want to claim you for myself,” she grinned.

“I’m not sure how Draco would feel about that,” Oliver chuckled as Hermione picked up his thistle and heather button hole, putting it into place, smoothing the ribbon out just so.

“Draco would probably want to join in,” Hermione confided, a glint in her eye.  Oliver was momentarily shocked by the candid admission before he saw the smile break on her lips and the pair of them giggled.  

“I am not sure if I should be flattered or concerned about that revelation, ‘Mia,” Oliver chuckled as Hermione reached for her tartan shawl, wrapping it around her shoulders.  

“Flattered of course,” she replied, “honestly, you don’t know what you are turning down here, Draco is _fantastic_ in bed,” she winked as she grabbed her bouquet of thistle, heather and white and purple roses, wrapped in the same tartan bow that adorned the groom's’ buttonholes.  

“Hermione Granger!” Oliver admonished, feigning scandalisation.  

“What?” Hermione smiled coyly at her best friend.

“You’re incorrigible,” Oliver shook his head.

Hermione’s smile widened as she held the door for him.  “You love it.”

 

oOoOoOoOo

 

Marcus stood nervously waiting next to Draco, his eyes scanning the room.  The last of the guests were finding their seats on the pristine white chairs, the ones on the isle adorned with tartan bows and a sprig of heather and thistle.  To his right, the Minister came in taking his place in readiness.  As the trepidation worked up Marcus’ spine, he turned to Draco who nodded to the back of the room.  The orchestra picked up the cue as Pansy and Hermione, elegant in their simple emerald green gowns with tartan shawls, stood ready to walk ahead of Oliver.  

Marcus’ heart was in his mouth, the roar of his blood in his veins and the pounding of his heart in his chest drowning out the music as Oliver made his way towards him.  He looked absolutely gorgeous in his tartan kilt and a small part of him distractedly wondered if he was going commando underneath as per tradition.  

As the girls reached the front, they each stopped to give each of the three men a kiss before taking their places to Oliver’s left.  Marcus reached out, taking Oliver’s hand in his own, turning it in, pressing a kiss to his wrist, sending shivers down Oliver’s spine and causing his cheeks to flush.

Everything Marcus wanted was stood beside him; everything he wanted in his future laid out before him and with that realisation he felt his nerves subside and his trembling cease.

 

oOoOoOoOo

 

Marcus stood off to the side, watching as his husband danced with Hermione.  He couldn’t help the smile on his face as he watched them share a joke. Feeling a hand curl around his arm he turned to see Pansy who nodded towards the dance floor.  

“Go on then,” he chuckled with a roll of his eyes as he drained his champagne flute, leaving it on the side before whisking his friend off for a dance, the girls sharing a silent joke as they passed each other.  

Remembering the night he had told his parents and they had refused to attend the wedding, he realised he no longer cared.   _Friends are the family you choose for yourself_ , he thought smiling as Draco cut in to reclaim his wife from Oliver, a whispered word in her ear causing her to blush and smack his arm playfully.  He couldn’t have hoped for a more loving family, he mused.

oOoOoOoOo

 

Alone in their hotel room, Oliver made to slip out of his jacket.  Feeling Marcus’ hands on his he stilled his movements, turning around and looking up into his slate grey eyes, darkened by lust.  Lifting a hand to cup his cheek tenderly, he brought his lips down on Oliver’s, soft and gentle, his tongue sliding painfully slowly over the seam without seeking entrance.  Oliver moaned, bringing his hands up, cupping the back of his neck.  Dragging his fingers up, the strands coarse from his fresh haircut contrasting with the smoothness of Oliver’s palm, he opened his mouth seeking out his husband’s tongue.  

Marcus nipped his lip playfully before breaking away from the kiss with a smile so full of promise that it sent Oliver’s heart soaring. Dropping to his knees, Marcus lifted the kilt slowly,  pressing a kiss to Oliver’s leg just above his sock.  As he revealed each new inch of thigh, he kissed the flesh he exposed as Oliver trembled above him.  

 Six inches and six skin tingling kisses later, he paused, a low groan escaping his lips as he pressed his forehead to the emerald garter he discovered.

“Oh sweet merciful heaven, what prey tell, Oliver, is this?”

Oliver chuckled. “That is a garter, love.  It was Hermione and Pansy’s idea.  They kind of dared me,” he confessed as Marcus toyed with the silky item.  With a growl, he snagged it in his teeth, dragging it down until he was sliding it off as Oliver held his leg up with a soft giggle.

 “I think I shall keep this as a souvenir,” Marcus told him, wiggling his eyebrows seductively as he pocketed the garter.  “Bed, now,” his commanding voice instructed; Oliver was all too ready to comply.

Climbing up, Marcus discarded his jacket, loosening off his tie as Oliver settled back on the bed.  Resuming his trail of kisses up Oliver’s thigh, he felt Oliver shiver with anticipation.  Finally he reached his goal, brushing the woollen fabric of the kilt to one side, he confirmed his earlier suspicions.

“My my, my husband _is_ a man of tradition,” Marcus grinned as Oliver dug his fingers into his shoulders, signalling his want.

 

Painfully erect, Oliver gasped as Marcus trailed the tip of his tongue slowly along the contours of his length, his thumb and finger curling around the base as he felt Marcus, hot and teasing, open his mouth wide, taking him in but hardly making contact, the heat from his mouth and the proximity of his tongue causing his cock to twitch as he clutched the sheets in his fists.  “Please,” Oliver begged, instantly rewarded by the wet heat as Marcus sucked hard, his tongue pressing to his length, Oliver's hips canting towards him.  Oliver begged Marcus to do something, anything, and Marcus chuckled, clearly enjoying this moment, the vibration making Oliver moan all the louder.

Finally, the earth stopped spinning and Marcus moved, his hand coming up to cup Oliver’s balls, stroking as he sucked, licked and nipped, bringing Oliver closer and closer to the precipice before tossing him over the edge, the earth seeming to shatter as Oliver came undone.

Marcus licked his lips, before coming up to kiss Oliver as the pair tore at each other, their clothes discarded haphazardly as they grasped desperately.  When finally they lay skin on skin, they both groaned, relishing in the feeling of their being melting into the other.  

Oliver’s head lulled back as Marcus slipped a finger inside his tight channel, sweeping it over his prostate until Oliver could bear the feeling no longer; his curses and cries incoherent as Marcus explored.

Marcus brought Oliver’s leg up, massaging the back of his thigh as he lined up with his entrance, groaning as he buried himself to the hilt, the fingers of his other hand curling around Oliver’s length, the delirious sensations sending Oliver reeling.  Sex had always been good between them, but something about this was nothing short of amazing, and Oliver never wanted it to end.

Dipping down to kiss Oliver, Marcus sucked on his bottom lip as he rocked, picking up the pace as he sought his own release, his need coiling like a spring in his abdomen as he surged on until it snapped and Marcus came crashing down to earth and the arms of his husband.

Sated, they lay wrapped in each other’s arms, drifting off to sleep.

 

oOoOoOoOo

 

Ghosting kisses along Oliver’s shoulder, he felt him wake and turn in his arms.

“Hey,” Oliver smiled.

“Hey,” Marcus grinned back.

“So are you going to tell me where we are going for our honeymoon then?” Oliver asked, hopefully.

Marcus shook his head, brushing his fingers through Oliver’s fringe.  “Nope,” he chuckled.

Oliver pouted.  “So how will I know what to pack or whether I need my passport?”

Marcus pressed a kiss to Oliver’s forehead.  “Don’t fret, it’s all taken care of.  The girls packed for you.”

“So everyone knows except me?” Oliver whined, his eyes wide.

“Hush, it’s a surprise,” he told him, kissing him soundly.

 

oOoOoOoOo

 

“Vermont?” Oliver enquired as they handed over their passports to the girl at the desk.

Marcus grinned.  “Home of maple syrup, Ben and Jerry’s and apples,” he told him, a seductive lilt to his tone and a knowing smile on his lips.

 

oOoOoOoOo

 

Tumbling into the room, they were a mess of tongues and teeth and lips as they nipped and sucked at the other; grasping shirts, rasping moans, their breathing ragged.  

“Fuck, what’s this,” Oliver laughed, as he rolled over having fallen against the bed.

“Well done, you landed on the ‘Welcome basket’,” Marcus grinned, grabbing an apple, and taking a bite.  Oliver groaned as he watched the beads of juice trickle down Marcus thumb.

“Come ‘ere,” he breathed, dragging him down for a kiss.

“What about the apples?” Marcus laughed, as Oliver tugged at his shirt.

“Fuck the apples,” Oliver replied as he tugged it over Marcus’ head.

“Rather fuck you,” Marcus replied, growling as his teeth found the column of Oliver’s throat.

“Promises, promises,” Oliver sighed.

 

oOoOoOoOo

 

“I love these snug knitted turtlenecks you wear, but they do make it hard for me to get to your neck,” Marcus murmured, fingering the collar as they sat on the rug in the orchard of the bed and breakfast.  

Oliver hummed his reply as he turned to kiss his husband, before the pair of them lay back, Oliver resting his head on Marcus’ chest as they watched the clouds drift by in the Autumn sky.  Sighing contentedly, he closed his eyes, listening to the gentle thrum of Marcus’ heartbeat as Marcus threaded his fingers through Oliver’s hair.  Right in that moment, he couldn’t think of a single place he would rather be.


End file.
